


Distance

by flurblewig



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Multi, Smut, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-17
Updated: 2010-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-06 09:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flurblewig/pseuds/flurblewig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slightly different spin on BtVS S4's  'Where The Wild Things Are'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distance

There's something wrong.

He can't quite work out what it is, but there's definitely something nagging at him; some kind of wrong note being sounded. He tries to concentrate, but it's difficult to get his thoughts to co-operate. He should be able to do this; he's a soldier, trained to be alert. Trained to be aware. His life, and the lives of his men, depend on his ability to identify danger.

Danger - is he in danger? Where is he, what's happening? He tries to think, but it's so hard; his mind feels sluggish and unresponsive. It doesn't want to think, doesn't want to worry. It just wants to drift away and rest.

Is he drunk? He doesn't remember drinking, but - wasn't there a party? He vaguely remembers being in a room full of noisy people. With Graham, maybe? Was Graham there? Forrest?

He tries his best to focus, but Graham and Forrest are slipping away from him. They simply don't seem all that important. They'll be fine, of course they will. He doesn't need to worry about Graham and Forrest, doesn't need to worry about anyone else at all. They don't really matter.

All that matters is Buffy.

Buffy. Somehow, miraculously, _his_ Buffy. Here, with him. In his arms. She looks so beautiful; her skin gleaming with a sheen of sweat, her eyes clouded with passion. He dips his head and draws his tongue along the line of her throat, tasting her. She moans softly, and pulls his head down to her breasts. He sucks gently on one hard little nipple and the moans become more urgent.

Urgent... was there something urgent he had to do…? Something he was supposed to remember? His thoughts are so heavy, struggling to move through sticky treacle. There was something important that he'd thought of, wasn't there..?

Buffy moves in his arms, the pressure of her body setting his on fire. No, he's wrong. He has to be. What could be more important than this? More important than her, than being with her? Than being _inside_ her?

This is all that's ever been important to him. All that ever will be. Being with Buffy, loving Buffy. Touching Buffy. His hands roam over her skin, trying to pull her closer. He can't get close enough, can't bear it that there is still space between them. He needs her. Needs to be next to her, close to her, part of her.

"Riley."

He lifts his head - slowly, so slowly. He's liquefying inside, his body trying to melt into Buffy's so that they can never be separated again. He never wants to be away from her, from this bed. The whole world is here, everything that's ever mattered is here.

"Riley."

Is that - is that his name? He has a name? Maybe he did, once. Before he became part of Buffy. Yeah, maybe he used to have a name. Maybe it used to be Riley.

He looks over and sees someone sat on the bed by their side. A not-Buffy someone. A man. He stares, and eventually his brain gives him a name. Xander.

Xander is sat on the bed. Watching them. Is that what was bothering him? He considers this. Should Xander not be there? Is that wrong?

He reaches out and touches Xander's hand, where it rests on top of the sheet. It looks so lonely, that bare hand, so far away. He can't allow that. Can't allow distance. Xander shudders as Riley strokes his fingers, and the vibration sets off a delicious tremor within Riley's own body. No, this isn't wrong. This couldn't be more right.

Xander still has clothes on though, and that is definitely wrong. They need touch; need skin. He pulls Xander to him, fumbling with his shirt while still trying to keep every other inch of himself in contact with Buffy. She begins to move too, one hand snaking out to caress Xander's thigh.

Riley is gratified to see the bulge instantly form in Xander's jeans. Yes. Yes, that's how it should be.

Xander's voice is coming from such a very long way away, Riley can barely hear him.   
"Riley. Buffy. Stop. There's something - there's something wrong. This place - it's feeding off you. Off this. People are getting hurt. You - you have to stop."

So far away. Far away is wrong. Close is good.

"Can't stop," he says, and maybe there is magic at work because although Xander's shaking his head, he's also taking off his clothes. "Can't stop," Riley says. "Need you. Need to touch you."

Xander carries on shaking his head, but his cock is responding to Buffy's touch. "No," he says. "No. Ah god, Buffy. Please."

"Hush now," she says, and takes him into her mouth.

The sight shoots straight to Riley's own cock, which throbs with need. He watches Buffy and Xander, and oh, how is he supposed to choose between them? Buffy all soft curves, Xander all lean planes and angles. No, he can't possibly choose. He has to have them both.

Xander is lying on his side next to him now, Buffy's head moving up and down between his legs. Xander's hand reaches down and tangles in her hair, while Riley spoons himself behind Xander, leaning forward to kiss his way down the back of his neck.

He rocks himself against Xander's ass as the boy cries out, the friction sending waves of pleasure though Riley's whole body. Yeah, this is right. It couldn't be more right. He wants to stay like this forever. This is where he belongs, right here. This is where they all belong, now and forever. Here together in the warm, comforting dark, which is -

\- which is suddenly being driven away by harsh, electric brightness.

"Okay now kids, I'm sorry to break up your little party but it's starting to get really weird out there and - fucking _hell_!"

Riley blinks. He knows that voice, doesn't he? It doesn't belong here. Doesn't belong here with him, with the others. It isn't comforting, isn't warm.

Xander is struggling against him, shaking his head as if to clear it.

"Spike?" he says, and it feels like someone has just thrown a bucket of icy water over Riley's body.

All three of them shudder, then break apart. Buffy gives a little shriek, and pulls the crumpled, damp sheet around her. Riley and Xander look at their hands, at the floor, at the walls - anywhere other than at each other. Or Spike.

"Oh, God," says someone, Riley isn't sure who. It could even be himself. "Oh, fucking Christ."

"Well," says Spike from the doorway. "Don't you three just make the cutest picture? Nothing like a bit of haunted house mojo to loosen the old inhibitions, huh? If I'd known you guys were into -"

"Get out, Spike." This time, Riley knows it's him speaking.

"Okay, okay. I'll give you a chance to get - uh, decent. Just don't take too long, huh? We've got a remake of Day of the Triffids going on out here."

They get dressed in silence, their backs to each other. When Buffy finally turns round, her face is set. Unreadable.

To Riley, at least. Xander seems to be able to read it just fine. He squeezes her arm, and the look that passes between them chills Riley even more than the sudden drop in the temperature of the room. It's a look that he's tried so hard to share, to be worthy of. A look that speaks of understanding and acceptance. A look that speaks of history.

Riley follows them out of the room. He looks back at the bed before he leaves, remembering that aching sense of desolation - the conviction that no matter what he did, he could never manage to get close to her.

He wonders if that feeling will ever go away.

 

\- End -


End file.
